


The Silver Fox

by onesizefitzsimmons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Female Rapist, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seduction, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesizefitzsimmons/pseuds/onesizefitzsimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes realizes that eight of his best agents working for him have been murdered in the past two months. He also knows that the murderer has been climbing his ranks with each victim killed. But Mycroft doesn't know who the murderer is; and he hates not knowing. An assassin AU where Greg Lestrade does not work for the law, but against it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, so let me know what you think! :)

Mycroft Holmes held his head in his hands. His white shirt had crumpled under his grey waistcoat, and its sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Yet another one of his best agents had been taken down this week for reasons unknown to him. And he hated not knowing why. A few moments after an impatient sigh escaped from his lips, the doorknob turned and the elder Holmes looked up from his hands.

“Sir, we’ve received CCTV footage from a car park in central London.” Anthea opened the door slightly wider, a gesture that said follow me.

Mycroft stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair backwards. He left his coat and hopped to speed walk up to Anthea. 

“How long is the footage?” Holmes questioned.

“We’ve just received the footage. When it was confirmed, I left right away without checking its duration.” 

Always the fantastic PA, Mycroft thought. Anthea knew how urgent the situation currently was.

| NINE HOURS EARLIER |

Agent Geoffrey fished his hands in his pockets to try to find his car keys. He felt some coins, his cigarettes, and his phone, but no keys. The man grumbled, when he heard a jangling behind him. 

“Looking for these?” A gruff voice asked.

As soon as the British agent faced the stranger holding his car keys in his hand, the opposite flew into his face. Agent Geoffrey hit the ground in the blink of an eye and right when his hands were about to act instinctively, three sharp objects pierced his abdomen. 

Geoffrey screamed and flailed under his attacker, but it was no use. The man was straddling him now, and his car keys entered him a second time. But the assailant kept the keys lodged into the agent’s abdomen.

“What do you want?!” Geoffrey cried out. The pain was unbearable and his vision swam. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

“Where will I find Mycroft Holmes at midday tomorrow?” Geoffrey’s attacker was eerily calm, which terrified him even more. 

“What? How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

Good, the attacker thought. He does work for the elder Holmes.

An insincere look of pity crossed the man’s countenance as he twisted his left hand counter-clockwise. Geoffrey’s guttural screams didn’t phase him at all. 

“Where will Mycroft Holmes be at midday tomorrow?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” 

In one swift motion, Georffrey’s attacker lifted his trunk and stomped on his fingers while maintaining eye contact.

“WHERE?” 

Agent Geoffrey screamed more, and it took every ounce of his training to bite his tongue. If he said where, he would be endangering the wellbeing of the British Government himself. He couldn’t say. But when his attacker twisted his car keys even further, the answer tumbled out of his mouth.

“Diogenes.”

In an instant, the keys left the agent’s abdomen and jangled when they hit the pavement a few feet from his head. 

Agent Geoffrey’s eyes closed as he tried to focus on breathing. He was losing a lot of blood. Going into shock was imminent. 

“See? A little push in the right direction goes a long way.” 

What?

When Agent Geoffrey opened his eyes, he was staring directly into the barrel of his attacker’s pistol. There was no way out of this one.

“Who are you?” Geoffrey rasped weakly.

| AN ADJACENT PARK |

The short, blonde man stuffed his hands into his pockets as saw his breath when he exhaled. Autumn is just about gone, he thought. As soon as he thought about how far home was, a gun shot pierced through the silence of the night.

The military man crouched low at the sound and fought back the surge of memories and fear that flew into his mind. Not yet. When he ran behind the cover of a nearby shrubbery, he saw a dark figure fleeing deftly from the source of the shot. He was a little shorter than 6 feet and had silvery hair. 

As soon as the silver haired man was out of sight, John Watson sprinted towards the source of the gunshot. 

It took John some time to get into the area of the car park even though he was sprinting. By the time he arrived, he was panting heavily and was looking around for a sign of a victim. 

A few minutes passed when John rested his hands on his knees and pulled out his phone to dial 999.

“Emergency services, which service do you require?” A female voice asked.

“Yes, I need an ambulance.” John didn’t say where he was. He knew that the officers of Scotland Yard would find him soon, but he hasn’t even found the body for Christ’s sake. 

The sandy-haired man walked around some cars around the entrance of the car garage, trying to find someone who might’ve been injured. That silver-haired man was fleeing rather quickly.

| CCTV FOOTAGE |

Mycroft’s eyes flicked over the screen playing footage from nine hours ago. 

He calculated for a moment, mentally tracing his thoughts around a mental map of London.

“That’s in the no-“

Right then, a man clad in all black practically flew from the scene.

“Is there anyway to get a closer look at that man?” The young woman Holmes was crouching over squinted and clicked her mouse several times. Soon another window popped up, showing the fleeing man from a different angle.

Mycroft absorbed the features of the man instantaneously. He was approximately 5’10”, give or take an inch, and the woman beneath him had to slow the footage and pause it in order to get a good look. The man looked strong, but not young, indicated by his head of silver hair.

The elder Holmes heard Anthea’s phone ring and glanced towards the door as she walked out for privacy. He went back to analyzing the footage on the monitor before him.

Where was this man going? Who was he?

The door opened once again and Mycroft turned.

“Sir? John Watson has discovered the body of Agent Geoffrey in northern London.”

Mycroft was now one step closer to answering who had done this. And their suspect had made a mistake; nobody could successfully escape from a Holmes’s grasp.


	2. The Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes finally meets the sharp Gregory Lestrade... But is time running out to stop him and what he'll do next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I will try to update weekly and I kept my word for this chapter. Please please please let me know how this chapter is because I want to improve in my writing to give you guys what you want! Feedback is appreciated1 :D

Mycroft Holmes sat in his own private room within the Diogenes Club. He shook out his left hand and checked the time on his watch, and the hands read 11:48 AM. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night in hope of making some progress regarding the “Silver Fox.” That’s what his people were currently calling the elusive assassin. 

But Mycroft had been in and out of his mind palace throughout the span of this morning trying to find any correlation between something that might help him find this man.

As the elder Holmes exasperatedly glanced up at the high ceiling of his room, the knob turned and his male security guard poked his head in.

“You alright, Sir?”

“Yes. Fine.”

Mycroft knew he could handle himself, but he knew that the killer was more capable than him. The elder Holmes had increased security around his offices and the club in the hopes of preventing anymore murders.

Several minutes later, Holmes stood up and smoothed his crumpled waistcoat. He needed to use the restroom and maybe splash some water on his face.

As he opened the door, he held a hand up and muttered blankly,

“Restroom. I’ll be fine.”

The man followed him nevertheless.

Mycroft opened the heavy wooden door to the restroom and walked to the second stall, which was the urinal he always used. Before he relieved himself, he checked the time; it was now midday.

Right as he was zipping up his fly, Mycroft heard someone shift behind him. After successfully securing his trousers, he turned around to fully face the man standing behind him and question his placement there.

Mycroft saw his shoes and looked from the bottom up. The man’s shoes were shined impeccably, while the cut of his suit was precise to a quarter of an inch. Mycroft’s mind raced through about fifty deductions as he saw the man’s horn-rimmed glasses, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the man’s hair.

The man’s hair was salt and peppery, but it was more than that. The man’s hair was silver. And he was also a little less than six feet tall. Mycroft Holmes was staring at the Silver Fox.

The man smiled as Mycroft looked completely shell shocked by his presence.

“I wanted to thank you for Agent Geoffrey’s services.” The Silver Fox had a baritone voice that made Mycroft weak in the knees.

But what was Mycroft feeling? Attraction? To this murderer?

“Are you going to kill me now?” 

Mycroft mentally spat at himself for leaking a retort that was incredibly weak. 

“Oh, I won’t be so boring. Besides,” he made a grand gesture around the room, “this setting is too…” A pause, “inappropriate.”

His voice noticeably dropped as he enunciated every word of “inappropriate”, and Mycroft Holmes cursed as he shuddered.

The man then surprised him even more by holding out a tanned hand, “Gregory Lestrade.” He introduced, not even blinking.

“Mycroft Holmes.” The elder sibling replied, voice shaking ever so slightly.

“A pleasure.” Gregory had drawled out. 

Gregory knew of the effect he had on both sexes, and he was ready to use it to his advantage when it came to Mycroft Holmes.

A hard knock on the door snapped both men out of the unique situation they were in.

“You alright Sir? The door seems to be locked from the inside.”

Mycroft took a glance at Gregory as he was walking away and fully turned to him.

“The pleasure was all mine.” Mycroft called out, and the assassin turned around one last time.

“I know. But next time, I won’t be so amicable.” Gregory's face was radically different than the first time he spoke. His face was dark as his appearance suddenly shifted to a lurking figure.

Mycroft watched as the deft fox worked his way up the stalls and hoisted himself up into the bathroom’s ventilation before bringing the grate up after his feet. The task made the assassin look 20 years younger than he actually was.

Once Gregory was out of sight, Mycroft's trembling breath came as a surprise to both him and his PA that stood at the open door.

“Sir, are you alright? What happened?” For once, Anthea wasn’t on her Blackberry as genuine concern was written across her visage. 

“Oh I didn’t notice you come in.” Mycroft spilled breathlessly.

Anthea raised an eyebrow, “Who were you speaking to?”

“Gregory Lestrade.” Mycroft’s countenance changed to the worse completely as Anthea’s changed as well.

“Gregory Lestrade?” She asked, with a note of curiosity and naivety dancing through her voice.

“The Silver Fox paid me a visit. And the next time he does, he’ll kill me.”


	3. A Taken Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory Lestrade meets Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to issue a potential warning regarding Mycroft Holmes. But will an opportunity to finally complete his mission appear when Sherlock calls Mycroft before Gregory shows up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the chapter is a day (or two?) late... I had to fly out of the country and I was super busy this week with school and other stuff. Thanks for waiting. Hope you guys like this chapter!

The younger Holmes paced around the living room of 221b as John Watson sat in his chair reading the morning newspaper. Sherlock had received an eyewitness account of the “Silver Fox” from John a few days ago, when Mycroft told him about his encounter with him the next day.

The Silver Fox had a name, apparently. Gregory Lestrade. The name was written on a slip of paper and hung across the wall above the couch of the room. Some grainy photographs hung next to the name while other slips of papers containing addresses were tacked above several maps. 

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock.” John didn’t even look up from the paper. The question was going to be about Lestrade.

“Tell me what you saw, but in the finest detail possible.”

John sighed exasperatedly, eyes still glued to the current gossip portion.

“John, if I do not catch this killer before he meets Mycroft again, he wont hesitate to kill him.”

“How do you know that?” John asked, now looking up at the younger sibling.

Sherlock practically flew over to his laptop sitting on the desk and handed it rather harshly to John. Multiple windows with pictures of the Silver Fox were open. 

“Gregory Lestrade is a military man,” he faced the seated blonde, “just like you.”

Sherlock began to pace again from the fireplace, to the couch on the opposite side of the room.

“Two tours in Iraq and was invalided home due to injuries sustained in his lower right back and abdomen.”

John suddenly hovered over towards the windows of the flat as Sherlock kept on speaking.

“You two seem to be very similar when it comes to – “ 

“Sherlock.” 

The younger Holmes stopped speaking and halted as John turned around.

“Come here. Now.”

“What is it?”

“It’s him.”

Sherlock warily walked over to the window and followed John’s gaze.

The Silver Fox was across the street, leaning on the brick wall of the building opposite to 221b. He was smoking. The man's dress was impeccable, while his tailored suit fit him snugly.

“Is it truly him?” Sherlock murmured questionably.

“Yes.” John’s reply was curt. The younger Holmes glanced over and spotted John’s noticeably tighter lip. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock was still staring at John. “What is it?”

“He walking towards the flat.”

Sherlock’s head whipped ninety degrees clockwise, and the Silver Fox was indeed stalking towards their building.

“What do we do Sherlock?” John now looked over at Sherlock, unsure of what to do next.

“Phone Mycroft. Tell him to come here as soon as possible with backup.”

John immediately spun on his heel to make the phone call elsewhere.

“Oh and John, do get your gun. This could get quite dangerous.”

| THE OFFICE OF MYCROFT HOLMES |

Mycroft sat at his desk, still in his Mind Palace. After his encounter with Gregory Lestrade, he knew the man desperately needed to be stopped. 

But the elder Holmes seemed to be struggling to focus whenever he thought about the immaculate suit the Silver Fox was wearing, or his smart horn-tipped glasses, or the color of his hair. 

Mycroft banged both of his fists on his table and breathed out an expletive or two.

Yet another sigh escaped from his lips when his phone rang.

A look of confusion crossed his face when he saw the caller ID: John Watson.

As soon as he selected “Answer Call”, a hushed voice belonging to the blond answered.

“Mycroft, the Silver Fox is here. He’s about to come to the door.”  
“What?!” The loudness of Mycroft’s voice surprised himself, but his surprise soon turned into dread when he heard the chime of the flat’s doorbell.

“Send backup, Mycroft. I can only handle him for so long.”

Before Mycroft could protest, the call ended. The elder Holmes had never run out his office door that fast in his career to get Anthea.

| 221b Baker Street – Gregory Lestrade |

Approximately four minutes passed since he rang the doorbell and no one had opened the door to address him.

“How rude…” Gregory had murmured with a slight smirk curling on his lip. 

The Silver Fox was dressed immaculately once again, and he knew what his taste in dress could do to people. Especially a certain Holmes brother. But the younger? Not so much. Not with John Watson either.

Gregory’s left hand reached for the door knob, grasped it, and turned it counter-clockwise. He stepped in silently and closed the door behind him, before absorbing his surroundings. The Silver Fox could hear muffled voices and the sound of footsteps roaming above him

“221b. How quaint.” Lestrade whispered as he made his way up the stairs.

His footsteps were soft and undetectable until he reached the fifth step. A loud groan escaped from the old wood beneath him and all movement within the flat seemed to halt to a stiff pause. The murmurs from the floor above him were silenced. When Gregory heard the two men inhabiting 221b shuffle around once again, he continued up the 17 stairs to the second floor of the building.

Gregory Lestrade reached the second floor to find the door to the living room ajar. The Silver Fox’s movements were smooth, but methodical.

Lestrade stepped through the doorway to find Sherlock Holmes and John Watson standing next to their chairs respectively.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“And to you, Mr. Lestrade.” The younger Holmes replied. “Would you care for some tea?”

“No thank you Mr. Holmes. I’m not here for your hospitality. But I am here to give you a warning.” Gregory Lestrade took a step towards Sherlock, but was intercepted by John taking a step to his left. John too, was sending out a warning to Greg.

Gregory turned to face John and a smirk crept across his lips for the second time that morning.

“You must be John Watson. The soldier invalided from Afghanistan.”

“Gregory Lestrade. The soldier who was invalided from Iraq.” John retaliated.

The corner of Gregory’s lip twitched upwards, but only Sherlock had noticed.

“You’ve done your homework. I’m proud.” Gregory was referring to the wall covered in information about him when he entered the living room.

John shifted from one foot to another when Sherlock broke the discomfort lingering in the flat.

“A warning?” Sherlock’s eyebrow rose, not sure what Lestrade meant by a ‘warning’.

“Your brother will be arriving here in any moment, so you can pass this message on when you see him. Tell Mycroft that I – “

“GREGORY LESTRADE!” Greg stopped short, eyes glancing over towards the windows on his right.

“THIS IS MYCROFT HOLMES.” The elder Holmes shouted from below. “YOU HAVE NO WAY TO ESCAPE 221b! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

Gregory Lestrade then faced the two men a couple of feet away from him. Both men held out guns aimed at him. They had pulled their guns out when he wasn't looking. He slowly lifted his hands above his head,

“It seems I was correct.”

The Silver Fox knew when he was cornered; but he still was not defeated.

Gregory headed for the stairs as John Watson maintained his position behind Lestrade.

Both men descended halfway down the stairs, when Gregory jerked an elbow behind him, knocking John’s gun askew. The fox bolted down the stairs while whipping out the pistol hidden within his inside jacket pocket. 

Mycroft Holmes was the first person Gregory saw when his feet landed on the ground floor. Time seemed to slow for Gregory and Mycroft as the first lifted his left arm to point his gun at the latter. Gregory's index finger pulled the trigger.

A bang reverberated throughout the assassin’s body as shouts and all kinds of sounds commenced around him. But before Lestrade could react, the full force of John Watson’s body jumping from the first step of 221b’s flight of stairs slammed into him. He lost his balance and fell forward. His left hand also lost hold of his pistol as he was tumbling down with the younger military man. Gregory’s glasses flew from his face, but before he knew it, his vision turned black. The older military man’s forehead hit the ground and had knocked him out cold.

Sherlock Holmes came flying down the stairs a few moments after he heard John’s shouts, but it was too late. He stood at the platform halfway down the flight of stairs when he heard a bang and the voice turning into a scream. Both were familiar. Sherlock witnessed the entire scene from above as he stood helpless to stop it.

The younger Holmes leaped onto the ground floor and shot out of the door, only to find his older brother bleeding beneath him, unconscious.

“CALL AN AMBULANCE!” Sherlock had never bellowed that loudly in his life.

And John Watson had never seen Sherlock Holmes cry. That was, until he saw Sherlock watching Mycroft getting whisked away by the EMT’s. Silent tears rolled down the undulation of his cheekbones as John placed a hand on his shoulder. Mycroft had lost a lot of blood, and Sherlock felt helpless.

This was Gregory’s warning, John thought, but he’d made yet another mistake. This Silver Fox was now in government custody. 

John Watson watched two agents handcuff the silver-haired assassin before stuffing him into a different van. When Gregory Lestrade wakes up, he’ll be walking through hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, I greatly appreciate feedback so I can improve for future chapters! Thanks for reading :)


	4. Are You Willing to Cooperate?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory is captured by Mycroft after a foiled assassination attempt upon the latter from the former. But will Gregory be able to withstand the tortures Mycroft has in store for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord I am so sorry about the unexpected hiatus. I had a bunch of stuff going on at school, plus a huge project that needed a ton of research. A lot of stuff was happening, and thanks so much for being patient. Well, here's my next chapter! Enjoy!
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!

| LOCATION: UNKNOWN |

The man bound to a bulky chair with leather straps and buckles seemed to stir. His face scrunched into a wince, as he sat up from the slumped position he was in.

Gregory Lestrade didn’t know where he was and cautiously woke up, but his ears rang sharply as he brought his head up to shoulder-level. Lestrade groaned sharply, but managed to open his eyes just a sliver; the room he was in was bleach-white. Gregory blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus on his surroundings, when a crack on the wall in front of him appeared.

A pair of men entered, one tall and one short. Both figures were blurry to Gregory, but he knew who they were. As soon as Gregory opened his mouth to make a snide remark, the shorter figure stepped closer and back-handed him across the face.

Lestrade didn’t cry out when he was struck, but managed to retort, 

“Thanks for the wake up call. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Gregory’s se of an expletive was met with another slap, but with the front of John’s hand this time.

“I haven’t known a lot of people into this kind of stuff, except for one woman. You knew her, didn’t you Holmes?”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened, but before he could verbally retaliate, John fist swooped from his side and landed a bone-cracking hook on the side of Lestrade’s face. 

Lestrade’s head fell back behind the chair while John flexed and relaxed his hand at his side. Quiet laughter came from Lestrade, as his chest shook with each snicker. 

Sherlock took John’s arm and led him out the door again, a scowl carved across his face.

“What the hell was that?” Sherlock spat, disappointed at John.

“He was being a smart arse.”

“And that justifies you possibly breaking his jaw?”

John sighed and glanced at the stone wall besides the both of them, feeling idiotic for what he’d done.

“Now Lestrade believes he has the upper hand. If we get aggravated, we might as well not interrogate him at all since he won’t tell us anything.”

Sherlock turned again to open the door to Lestrade’s cell. 

“Wait here. Don’t come in until I tell you to.” Sherlock entered the room and closed the door behind him.

John leaned his back against the wall adjacent to the door and waited silently, also listening to the deep voices from within.

| INTERROGATION |

Both men in the room sat across from each other, but Lestrade wasn’t uttering a word.

“I regret to inform you that Mycroft Holmes has not perished from your attempt to assassinate him.”

A scoff escaped from the older man’s lips as he looked away.

“Like I give a shit.”

“Oh you should, Mr. Lestrade, because your employer will be very upset.” Sherlock strode closer to where Gregory was sitting, although Lestrade was still looking away.

“And now – “

Sherlock was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“Is the time for you to tell us who your employer is.” Mycroft Holmes confidently strolled past a confused John and a contemptuous looking Sherlock. 

“Brother mine, it is time for you to step out and allow me to have some quality time with Mr. Lestrade here.”

Sherlock nodded slightly.

“If you do Holmes junior, I bet Holmes senior would not hesitate to – “

With that comment, the elder Holmes stepped forward and swept his hand across Gregory’s face. 

Gregory closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly, reeling from the sting of the slap. But he still wore a smile across his face as Sherlock exited the room. 

“Mr. Holmes you should at least buy me a drink first. I feel like we’re being a bit too hasty.”

Mycroft bared his teeth slightly at the comment, but cleared his throat to keep at least a bit of composure. Mycroft needed to gain the upper hand.

“I suggest you cooperate Mr. Lestrade, or else your life won’t be as simple as it used to be.”

Gregory turned his head to the side and spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the floor. “Bring it on, Senior.”

A smirk rode its way up the younger man’s lips. Mycroft spun on his heel and exited the door even quicker.

The silver-haired man sat in silence, moving his joints under his restraints. Suddenly, the lights went out with a fizz. 

“Alright.” He murmured. “Is this it?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Oh no, Mr. Lestrade. We’re just getting started.” Mycroft answered, without a hint of emotion in his voice.

A loud thud and clank startled Gregory slightly, and loud mechanical whirring followed soon after. After a couple of seconds, the sound of metal hitting metal ended the loud whirring.

“You said to ‘bring it on’, Mr. Lestrade. That’s just what I’m planning to do.”

The line went dead, but the way Mycroft’s voice sounded was a little off. His voice didn’t echo in the room as much as it did before the whirring started. 

Gregory focused on his breathing. He didn’t know what kind of situation he was in. But the feeling was strange; his breaths seemed louder. A few minutes later, Gregory could hear his heart beat thumping in his chest. What was going on? Gregory’s heart rate started to increase suddenly, when he started hearing the blood rushing in his head. 

The silver fox began to writhe in his restraints while his pulse began to rise rapidly. 

“What is this?!” Gregory called out to Mycroft. “What are you doing to me?!”

Gregory’s pulse was at a high, and everything was loud; his shouts hurt his ears, while the sound of his blood pumping through his veins shook his entire body.

Soon Gregory began to shriek in panic, while trying to escape from the leather binding his limbs. Sweat began to drop down his face as his veins protruded from his strain.

| CAMERA ROOM |

Sherlock, John, and Mycroft watched Gregory begin to struggle against his restraints on the CCTV screen. 

The live stream was in night-vision due to the room being dark.   
“What have you done to the room?” John asked.

“We’ve created an artificial anechoic chamber. It is not as silent as the real ones, but the foam used to surround the room absorbs all sound waves, preventing any sound or electromagnetic waves from echoing.” Mycroft replied.

“Many of the labs are in America, but Myc was persuasive enough to receive some of the technology the Americans use for their chambers.” Sherlock provided a coy smile while calling his brother ‘Myc.’

Mycroft only stared back, while John glanced back and forth at both siblings. The situation became slightly awkward until they started hearing Gregory’s screams.

“What’s happening to him?” John leaned forward at the screen, with a look of shock spread across his face.

“Mycroft said the room was ‘almost’ completely silent.”

John looked back blankly.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, “It means he would be able to hear everything: he begins to hear his heart beat without any disturbances, then the blood rushing into and fro his head, and even the slightest movements he makes. No sound echoes in the chamber, but only he can hear the noises he makes since he is the sole source of it in there.”

“And it is said that those inside long enough eventually start to hallucinate.” Mycroft added, not taking his eyes away from the CCTV screen.

Gregory’s screams only grew louder, but he wasn’t speaking anymore. The screams went from panicked frenzy to screams of guttural suffering. 

The three men could see Gregory shaking violently in his chair, as his head thrashed about violently. 

“STOP THIS!” Gregory cried, as if all the life had been sapped out of him. His cries sounded distant, although evidence of him straining was apparent.

“How long has he been in there?” John asked, turning to the Holmes siblings.

Both of them shook their wrists and brought them forward to look at the time, “It has been about 36 minutes now.” Mycroft stated.

“Weak.” Sherlock muttered, almost disgusted at Gregory’s lack of tolerance.

Mycroft was already on the phone with the people managing the chamber. “Lift up the chamber walls and turn the lights on to its fullest level. I want him in a daze.”  
| CHAMBER |

Gregory was about to pass out. He was still screaming, even though it felt as if his lungs would give out at any moment. He could hear his blood pumping to his head as he was breathing extremely heavily. He was so lightheaded that he thought he saw several faint lights surrounding him. 

But as soon as he felt as if he wouldn’t be able to inhale again, the mechanical whirring returned with a familiar clank and thud. The walls were retracting back up to the ceiling. The room was still black. 

Gregory was panting and his entire body felt drenched. Noises were starting to become more familiar, with the echoes of sounds beginning to return. After the loud whirring ceased, the lights of the room activated with its full capacity.

The silver fox winced and tightened his eyelids around his now hazy vision. Gregory could feel his pupils dilating appropriately to the bright light in contrast with the darkness he was in. A spectacle of colors danced their way through his vision before he opened his eyes again, still tiny slivers and blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright lights.

“Now Mr. Lestrade.” Mycroft said, a hint of authority accenting his words. “Are you willing to cooperate? Or would you prefer going back to your own hell once again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, comments and feedback are always appreciated!


	5. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's employer is finally revealed, when Mycroft and Gregory must relocate to a safe place. But when they get there, Greg will do anything to escape. But how far will he go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has some smuttiness to it. No actual sex, but some jacking off. So be warned.  
> Sorry I couldn't post consistently! Finals got to me and I had so much work to do. But here it is!!

Greg's entirebody was buzzing, but not in a good way. His head was pounding, as if a drummer was hacking away to destroy the tops of their drums. His throat ached from his never ending screams. His muscles felt weak from his thrashing, and perspiration made his clothing stick to his body. 

When the door opened once again, Mycroft had stepped in, emotionless. After shutting the door, the elder Holmes strode towards Greg and smirked slightly. 

“I assume my best was your worst nightmare.” Mycroft remarked.

Greg looked up at Mycroft, with a look of uncertainty. But Mycroft had never seen the stoic man possess such a look. 

A couple of seconds passed, when Mycroft’s phone rang. Sherlock was calling. He wasn’t using the speaker for the room. It was something Greg shouldn’t hear.

Mycroft turned around and answered.

“What is it?” Mycroft snapped, full of annoyance.

“Stupid, Stupid. It’d never occurred to me that Gregory never mentioned his employer.”

“Yes.”

“Why would that be?”

“To prevent us from finding out who he’s working for.”

“Yes, but that’s obvious. Even the idiots at Scotland Yard could figure that out. But Gregory failed to assassinate you. If he’d succeeded, news outlets would scramble for the story, not that they would get much anyways.”

The gears started turning in Mycroft’s head.

“If Gregory had failed – “

“They’re bound to try again.” The senior interjected.

Mycroft turned to face Gregory. He walked towards the older man and bent over to examine his left forearm. Many veins protruded from his skin, but one did not look like the others. It was abnormally straight and slightly off color. When examined closer, Mycroft could see one of its tips blinking every four seconds.

He immediately turned around, holding the phone back up to his ear. 

“He has an artificial implant posed as a vein. Assumed tracking device. Get you, John, and Anthea to a secure area. We will follow suit.” Mycroft spilled robotically. They needed to act fast.

“It can kill me too.” Gregory said, almost with confidence.

Mycroft had already hung up.

“My employer can press the button to spell my doom at any given moment. But you go ahead. Once they find me here, they’ll kill me nevertheless.”

“And why is that?” The elder Holmes inquired, but he already knew why.

“For failing to kill you!” Gregory’s voice suddenly elevated in volume, almost making Mycroft flinch. 

“I have never failed to eliminate a target. And do you know what they’ll do to me?” A laugh full of delirium reverberated throughout the room, making both of the men shake; one in apprehension and one in fear.

“They’ll skin me alive and pour acid all over me. Scratch that, they’ll cut me open first so I can see what’s going on in my own fucking body first!” The graphic description was sickening, but the first action caught Mycroft’s attention.

“Wait a moment. Your employer will skin you alive?” 

“Yes. If I’m lucky.” Gregory added with a scoff.

Memories came flooding in from a previous case Sherlock had worked a few years prior. Skinning. A pool. CCTV footage of a man in Westwood holding a standoff with Sherlock and John. Snipers. Jim Moriarty was Gregory Lestrade’s employer.

“Moriarty…” Mycroft whispered in astonishment.

Gregory’s visage transitioned into one of fear. 

“He was never actually dead.” Gregory muttered. 

Soon after, a flurry of shouts and heavy footsteps could be heard outside the door.

“Shit.” Gregory mouthed, as he looked down at his restraints.

“They’ll kill you.” Mycroft stated calmly.

“No fucking shit!” Gregory replied, slightly panicked.

“I can get you out of here.” 

“They’ll be just outside the corner when we step out.” Gregory retorted, amazed at how idiotic Mycroft sounded.

“There’s another way out.”

The noises were getting closer, and Gregory was noticeably fidgeting. They only had a few moments before they really had to leave.

“But if you try anything, Mr. Lestrade. I will personally deliver your head to Mr. Moriarty himself. Understood?”

One sharp nod was his only response.

Mycroft dove to free one of Lestrade’s hands and signaled him to free his other limbs.

| UNKNOWN |

A man in a dark suit sat in a lightless room, the suit camouflaging him from sight. 

Out of the silence and darkness, his phone rang.

“Sir, we did not acquire Mycroft Holmes or Gregory Lestrade. But there are signs of people who were here. They all seemed to have left before we actually got in.”

A sigh escaped from the Irishman’s lips. This was not a good sign.

“What about Holmes junior and the ex-army doctor?” A voice dripping with malice questioned.

“No sign of them either, Sir.”

“Return to base for your next assignment.” The response was curt, yet saturated with vitriol.

The man tossed his phone aside and placed his head in his hands. He had some skinning to do.

| MYCROFT’S SECOND UNKNOWN WORKPLACE |

Both men had been walking for what seemed like an eternity under the streets of London. The rumbling of buses, trains, and cars traveling over their heads echoed as the sounds of smaller animals and pests pattering kept them on edge.

“How much longer?” Lestrade asked.  
Holmes and Lestrade looked weary. Mycroft had ditched his jacket and waistcoat before their escape; his top buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms. Lestrade was still in the white shirt, which was now filthy, and cloth trousers his captors had changed him in to.

“Almost there. Be patient.” Mycroft was brandishing a gun and torch for both of them. Lestrade was constantly eyeing the firearm, looking for an opportunity to steal it for the man. But he was sure Mycroft would see it coming. Plus, the body of a public enemy or of the British Government would not look good.

They eventually climbed up a ladder, finding themselves in a tunnel at the dead of morning. A car waited for them at the end. Mycroft held his right arm up towards the sky and his left parallel to the ground: a signal. The car drove towards them silently. Gregory squinted to see who it was, since their headlights weren’t on. 

Two familiar figures sat in the front, and Gregory groaned internally. It was Holmes junior and the blonde who nearly punched his lights out. But Lestrade got into the car without protest because he knew what was better for him. 

He looked out the window for the majority of the ride, but when he looked forward he could catch Sherlock or Mycroft sneaking authoritative glances at him. Mycroft had switched seats with the blonde, and Sherlock was driving now. The blonde, whom Mycroft called “Watson”, sat a few feet to Lestrade’s left, stoic and unmoving. His presence was intimidating, but not to The Silver Fox. He was cornered, but he knew opportunity to escape would arise soon.

Once they’d arrived at the location, Watson handcuffed Lestrade and placed a bag over his head. John was strong. Lestrade still knew not to strike prematurely.

Mycroft had Lestrade placed in a white room, similar to where he was previously in custody. There was no anechoic chamber, so captors would have to be clever when it came to extracting information.

John had forced the greying man to his knees in the center of the room and unlocked his handcuffs. As he was heading for the exit, he lifted the bag off of Lestrade’s head and walked out. The man examined his surroundings: one double bed with only cloth sheeting and nothing else. He was calculating. The glass the made up one side of the four sided room was two-way glass. 

The two brothers and friend watched the man within the room. He just sat there, eyes moving slowly around the room.

“I will keep an eye on him 24/7. Watson, I’ll need you if he ever gets out of hand since you are the most capable of us. Sherlock, only get in when I tell you to. He won’t speak to either of you anymore. Just keep an eye around this place and let me know if anything seems unordinary.”

Both men nodded and left together, murmuring about their duties.

| BEHIND THE GLASS |

Mycroft sat, watching Lestrade sit as well. His legs were crossed like a primary school student’s, and his hands rested face down on the side of his knees. The older man was meditating.

Gregory was actually thinking of the best way to get under the elder Holmes’s skin. Mycroft wasn’t affecting by words, no matter how vicious. He always seemed to find a way to deflect them and rebound even stronger replies. Gregory also couldn’t hurt him. The room Mycroft had placed him in was extremely formidable. Even the glass had multiple layers and was presumably bulletproof. Lestrade had only one option, which was to use Mycroft’s attraction to him as an advantage. 

Gregory couldn’t lie, though, Mycroft was a handsome man. Behind the posh, dapper suits, and ice-cold exterior, Mycroft had the qualities that Lestrade liked in a man. But now was no time for emotions getting in the way. He had to find a way to escape, and this would further his chances.

Lestrade waited for Mycroft to get slightly distracted, whether it be a text or a phone call from important contacts. 

He then seized the opportunity when Mycroft stood up and kept his back to the ceiling-to-floor height glass to take a call. The call took about several minutes. Gregory caught Mycroft locking the door to enter the observation room about an hour ago for privacy, so he wasn’t worried about any interruptions.

When Mycroft sat down and began to watch Gregory again, he noticed the older man taking his shirt off. 

“What is he doing?” Mycroft whispered, becoming captivated.

The older man revealed a toned torso and rippled midsection, fit from the years of physical work he’s done for his employer. Gregory began to do a set of push-ups and jumping jacks to accentuate the muscles of his body. He wanted to catch Mycroft’s attention effectively.

Mycroft could only watch in awe; the older man was incredibly fit ad well-sculpted. 

As Gregory stood up to his feat, perspiring and chest heaving a mischievous smirk splayed across his lips. He walked to the wall opposite of the glass and sat down, his back sliding down the wall. 

The elder Holmes’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Lestrade take off his trousers. The grey-haired man was now only in his pants, seeing his own reflection on the glass. Lestrade could only imagine what was going on on the other side of the glass panel.

Mycroft’s heart beat wildly and was about to tell Gregory to put his trousers back on, but he was frozen in place, in shock of what he was seeing. 

Gregory ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. The opposite began to rub at his chest, teasing a nipple. His right then moved slowly to his inner thigh, rubbing smooth circles and breathing slowly. He ran his hand over his flaccid length back and forth until a long outline began to form along his thigh.

Mycroft felt the temperature of the room rise rapidly, as his heart leapt at what he was watching. He felt filthy. He felt like a voyeur. He wanted to tell Gregory to stop because this was inappropriate. But he couldn’t. He felt like an idiot as he sat and watched the events unfolding, feeling slightly hard himself.

After several moments of kneading, Gregory began to breathe heavily, the air coming out of his mouth ragged and uneven. Even Lestrade’s heart was beating wildly, with the thought of him having an audience. Although he was doing this to get under Mycroft’s skin, thinking about the handsome man watching him furthered his arousal.

Under his closed eyes, he imagined what the man would be like in bed, stark naked and aroused. He imagined tugging at his ruffled auburn-colored hair and listening to him breathe out obscenities and spill his name during his climax. 

The thought of having sex with Mycroft made his member fully erect, when he finally slid his hand under the waistband of his pants.

Mycroft’s head was pumping and his mind jumped from one thought to the next immediately. What was he going to do? Gregory knew he was watching. But why is he doing this? Mycroft knew he couldn’t and shouldn’t cave in… He has a great amount of self-control that he takes pride in. But this was different. Gregory Lestrade is a beautiful man with an especially exquisite form. Mycroft already felt the unnatural tightness within his tailored trousers and saw the bulge just below the zip.

Mycroft closed his eyes, but only imagined obscener actions he could perform with Lestrade. But why was he doing this to him? Did Lestrade feel the same way? Mycroft felt like he was sixteen years old again, especially when he wondered if the older man felt the same way.

“Bollocks…” Mycroft then began to knead his growing erection through his even tighter trousers.

Greg began to feel the tension of his body smooth away as his right hand ran up and down his length. He wondered if Mycroft was doing the same, when he took his hand away from his throbbing member and placed both hands at his waistband. He stood up and walked to the glass, a face showing fully-blown pupils and absolute lust. When he stopped at the edge of the panel, he pushed both hands down and let his pants fall to the ground. He stepped out of the holes of the pants and kicked them aside. Gregory was standing stark naked in front of Mycroft Holmes with a fully erect penis.

Mycroft gasped at the sight directly in front of him: Gregory Lestrade stood, without clothing, a few feet in front of him. His member was fully erect and he began toying with it. Mycroft stood up from his chair and instantly began to undress without mental protest. The elder Holmes was already consumed with lust and knew he would have to orgasm in order to gain control of his actions again.

Mycroft unbuckled his belt in record speed, undid his button and zip, took his jacket and waistcoat neatly, undid his shirt, and finally took off his pants in movements motivated by extreme lust.

Greg knew Mycroft would need time to undress, even if he couldn’t see beyond his own reflection in the glass. He just knew. He too, began to touch himself with his eyes closed, imagining the person on the opposite side of the glass as well.

Gregory Lestrade moaned as his right hand began to move at a faster pace, while imagining thrusting through Mycroft’s arse. His hips bucked into his dominant hand as his left hand ran across his chest and abdomen. 

Mycroft Holmes was silent, but his ragged breathing was enough to show that he was enjoying what he was doing to himself. While Gregory’s eyes were closed, his were open to watch everything the man in front of him was doing. 

Both of their paces quickened, as Gregory began to moan obscenities. Several moments later, Gregory moaned a soft, “Mycroft.” While Mycroft didn’t understand it’s importance, hearing his name from the Silver Fox’s mouth in a moment like this only added fuel to the fire. Mycroft was close to coming, when he saw Gregory’s pace quicken. 

Gregory then leaned forward and touched his forehead against the glass for support of his impending climax.

“God. My-Mycroft… I’m going to-oh-come…” Gregory breathed out. 

Both men were on the brink.

With a few final quick strokes, Gregory came first with a large groan. His head leaned back as his chest leaned on the cold glass, giving Mycroft a full frontal view.

Mycroft came a few moments later, after quickening his hand’s pace considerably. Mycroft came with a long moan, drawled out by his quick breaths and long climax. Mycroft and Lestrade finished with a few rubs of the tips of their lengths and moaned in finality. 

Lestrade practically floated back to his bed, his entire body in a post-climactic bliss.

Mycroft immediately got dressed again, heart still thumping from what had just happened. His hands shook as they clasped every button, belt loop, and zip. A few shakier breaths escaped from his dry lips when the gravity of the situation fell on top of him like the weight of a tsunami.

“What the hell just happened?” Mycroft muttered. Why did Lestrade start this mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I'll try to update as much as I can this summer! <3
> 
> -AK


	6. Violated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the sexual events of last chapter, Gregory receives a visitor. He thinks it's his savior, but she's the exact opposite. But she does something completely unexpected and horrifying. How will Mycroft approach what happened to Gregory?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy guysss. I am sincerely sorry about the super long and unexpected hiatus. I play a sport and I had two periods of time when I was away for three weeks at a time, and I was only home for a day in between both trips. Again, I apologize. I will try to update as frequently as I can. 
> 
> BUT TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Rape/Non-Con, Assault, Slight Gore, Violence, and Blood.
> 
> I love you guys. Leave comments about what you think!

Mycroft was not panicking at all. His heart was still racing from the event which had occurred nearly six hours ago. Mycroft had left the observation room immediately after cleaning up and hadn’t returned.

He looked up into the bathroom mirror. The cold water he splashed onto his face dribbled down in clear rivulets and into the sink. Mycroft felt violated, although he was the one who had touched himself. He was the voyeur for those fifteen minutes and the thought couldn’t escape his mind. Even though Gregory had not lain a single finger upon Mycroft, he felt as if the older man had been on every inch of his body.

Mycroft took one more look at his drying face. A shuddering sigh rippled out of his lungs and he leaned his hands next to the sink.

 

| CHAMBER |

Gregory was laying on top of the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling. The sweet feeling of release from before had blanketed his entire body. The silver fox felt content for the first time in a long time.

The older man was half naked above the waist, having put his trousers back on after the entire ordeal. He didn’t think Mycroft was still in the observation room. Even though Gregory was aging (evidenced by his silver locks), his physique still remained in tip-top shape. 

While a bored Gregory examined some specks of dust on his trousers, the sounds of the chamber’s locks getting picked expertly weren’t heard. Approximately ten seconds later, the large door swung open and Gregory swung up to his feet at the sudden noise.

A lean woman clad in black entered, and Gregory felt relief wash over him. 

“It’s about time you came.” The older man began to walk towards the open door when the woman swiftly shut it again.

“I didn’t come for your aid.” The woman answered, her voice husky and threatening.

She took a running start and aimed a flying kick for Gregory’s head, but the older man ducked just in time. Her kick connected with the metal wall, slightly denting the hard surface, as she rebounded off the surface and landed on her feet. Gregory was at the other half of the room, adrenalin already racing through his veins from the sudden attack.

“Then why did he send you?” Gregory inquired, his voice collected, albeit shocked.

“To leave a message. For your lover.” She practically spat out the last word.

Gregory’s jaw clenched. How did Moriarty know about what he’d done with Mycroft? Now wasn’t the time to wonder. Anger flared in Gregory’s belly, when he began to charge at the woman. 

Gregory swung his right fist and aimed for the woman’s face, but missed. Her dodge was purposefully falling backward onto one hand and returning to her feet again. Greg’s miss prompted the woman to jab at his revealed side with her boot, making him fold towards her. As he recoiled from the jab, the woman delivered a swift kick to his face. The force of the kick split Gregory’s forehead, making him see stars.

The older man fell onto his back a few feet away, which infuriated him even further. A few moments later, Gregory planted his hands above his shoulders, brought his knees to his chest, and kicked up hard to perform a kip up. He landed flat on his feet, eyes full of fury and face erased of any kind of mercy. Blood flowed profusely from the cut above his brow, but it only made him look more vengeful. 

This time, they both charged at each other. The woman prepared to jump up and latch her legs around Gregory’s neck, when the older man dropped down onto his left hip and slid beneath her jump. His hands brought himself to a stop as he swung his legs in a rotational motion, rolled backwards, and pushed himself up with his hands onto his feet, performing the starfish kip up.

As the woman was still reeling from her missed jump, Gregory delivered a roundhouse kick to her head, sending her flying. The woman did tumble, but she eventually got to her feet again. She shook her head to snap out of her daze and snarled at the silver fox. 

Gregory still assumed a defensive posture but paused to examine the features of his adversary. She was American, and brunette. She was lean and strong and barely conveyed any emotion besides contempt. But he also noted how beautiful her facial features were. Greg wondered how and why she was working for a man like Moriarty. 

His train of thought was forcibly halted when he heard a snap. Gregory didn’t notice the woman’s hand pulling a black stick out of a pants leg pocket. He also didn’t notice her wrist flicking outwards to extend a military-issue baton. That wasn’t fair. Gregory looked left and right to find his discarded shirt in the corner behind the baton wielding woman. His equalizer was behind his opponent. Gregory would wrap the shirt around her wrist and break it, rendering her useless.

Both Gregory and the American eyed each other carefully, watching for a cue to charge. The woman took the chance first. She rushed at Greg, bringing the butt end of the baton down towards his head. The silver haired man blocked her fist with his forearm, then wrapped his left arm around her right towards her arm pit. Gregory brought his opposite fist into her abdomen, punching hard. Right before he was going to jump over the doubled over woman, she roughly brought the butt end of her baton down onto Gregory’s knee. 

Greg cried out as he fell onto his side. His leg didn’t feel broken, but a fracture was likely. Gregory’s head also banged on the floor on his way down, giving him a severe concussion. A wave of nausea flooded his senses, when the woman reappeared. She’d discarded the baton and was now wielding a knife almost as long as his forearm. The American woman walked over to Greg and straddled his hips, with an expression of false pity.

“Play date’s over, Gregory. You weren’t too bad for a big boy in his fifties.” A coy smile danced across her lips. 

Blood caked more then half of his face now, with bruises beginning forming along his entire body. His expression was blank, although his eyes remained tight to glare at the woman. The concussion immediately sapped his entire body of its energy, and his chest was heaving. 

“Although I think we could play a bit more.” She licked her lips and gazed down at Gregory’s exposed torso. Her hands began at the tops of his shoulders and trickled down his chest, while her fingertips danced across his nipples. Gregory gasped at the unexpected sensual touch, but he soon felt confusion with what was going on. What was happening? What were they doing before this? 

The woman now leaned down, her lips suddenly on top of Greg’s, as she was practically laying on top of him. What was she doing? She was kissing him, but why? Greg did not have any coordination at the moment and couldn’t seem to move. 

She was taking advantage of him.

Greg wanted to shove her off of him with all his might, but his body could not respond. Her lips moved across his cheek and went to his ear and she whispered seductively,

“James wanted to do this himself, but it wasn’t possible. So he let me have you.” The woman emphasized ‘have’ and sat up again. She was sitting on top of Greg’s hips and she laid her hands on his toned stomach for support. The American began to grind forwards and backwards on Gregory’s flaccid member. The friction eventually caused his length to harden, making the woman tip her head back. The American woman closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, feeling Greg’s length rub against her spread legs. She tried to spread her legs even wider, when the sensation wasn’t enough for her liking. 

The woman stood up and pulled down her trousers, while also peeling her shirt off. She straddled Gregory once again, while only in her undergarments. She then also undressed Gregory, leaving him stark naked without his trousers. The thin layer of her underwear didn’t block the feeling of Greg’s fully erect length. She continuously ground her hips forwards and backwards against Greg’s while letting out sensual moans. As the woman looked down at Greg’s growing length, she wished she could do more with him. But there wasn’t enough time. This would do.

With every rut, the woman on top of Greg let out sounds of pleasure that echoed within the chamber walls.

Gregory was almost unconscious at this point, oblivious to what was happening above him. His vision was blurred and the pain from his concussion was extreme. 

As the woman was close to reaching her climax, she took the knife in her hand again. The American had done this before: right as she would reach her orgasm, she would elicit overwhelming pain from the person under her. The screams would send her over the edge. 

This was why Moriarty hired her: She was ruthless.

She was a few strokes away from her climax when she leaned one hand on Greg’s shoulder and brought her knife up. Her aim was at the fleshy area directly under the center of the chest. The knife was brought down and plunged into Gregory’s abdomen. 

As the blade entered Gregory’s abdomen, he was instantly pulled out from his murky state of disarray. Pain shot throughout his entire body like he’d never known before. Gregory let out a bone-shattering scream, as the American woman climaxed seconds later. She screamed in unison, although not in pain. The rutting continued for a few more minutes as she shook from the climax’s intensity. A smile was pasted across her face as blood gushed from Greg’s abdomen, while his body convulsed in pain. 

Moriarty’s female employee stood up and got dressed as she admired her handiwork. Right before she left, she pulled a note out from her pants pocket and dropped it on top of Gregory’s crotch. His erection was almost gone now, and would be by the time they found him. 

She approached the chamber door and opened it, with minimal strain. Just before departing the room, Gregory’s attacker turned around one last time and blew him a kiss. She truly was a psychopath, and no one would know.

 

| MYCROFT |

Mycroft eventually made his way back towards the chamber, when he heard footsteps heading towards the exit of the facility. Sherlock and John were somewhere in here, along with a number of employees he knew, but the sound of this person’s gait was unfamiliar. The pace was way too quick.

The elder Holmes approached the wall with his back to it and peered around the corner. An unfamiliar Caucasian woman dressed black was leaving the facility. She was humming a tune and held an object in her hand. Just as she was exiting, a glint of metal flashed from the blade she held: it was a knife. 

When the huge door eventually closed, Mycroft broke out into a sprint to Gregory’s chamber. He’d recognized her features from a file handed to him a few days earlier by Anthea.

Mycroft turned his head left and right as he passed dozens of rooms, when he finally reached Gregory’s. He locked his knees as his feet rapidly slapped the floor to slow down his frantic sprint. Mycroft practically ripped the chamber door open and almost began to scream in rage when he saw what the American woman had done. 

“I NEED MEDICAL ASSISTANCE NOW!” Mycroft felt his vocal cords strain from bellowing that loudly. He’d never shouted like this in his life. Several sets of footsteps could be heard getting nearer.

Mycroft was kneeling besides a naked Gregory, as he pressed his dress shirt on top of his bleeding wound. The elder Holmes found a pulse, but it was incredibly weak. 

Several seconds later, Sherlock, John, Anthea, and few members of the facility’s medical team found Mycroft trying to keep Gregory alive.

Everyone noticed Gregory’s nakedness, but didn’t care at the moment.

The medical team began to circle Gregory, when John approached the unconscious man. Gregory was beginning to vomit, when John knelt down and tilted his head to the side. 

“We need to get him into a sterile area and stabilize him.” John firmly stated.

The team nodded, when another medical team member rolled in a gurney.

The group heaved Gregory onto the gurney altogether, before cleaning his mouth and giving the man oxygen. Another member applied pressure onto Gregory’s wounds as they wheeled him away. 

Everyone disappeared to revive the silver-fox, while Mycroft remained in the chamber himself. His undershirt had bloodstains and his trousers were soiled from the ordeal. The elder Holmes was alone. 

He blinked as he remembered the piece of paper folded in his pocket. No one else had seen it because he lifted it before anyone arrived. Mycroft slid it out of his trousers and unfolded the note, which had been sitting on top of Gregory’s crotch. A strange place for a note.

As Mycroft read the note, he shuddered at the message a familiar name left behind.

“Gregory isn’t mine anymore. He’s yours. You know what that means the next time I see him!!” Signed ‘M’. Underneath the two exclamation points was a smiley face, with the points being two eyes. 

Gregory is going to survive. But next time, he won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks for reading! :) I'll be updating as best as I can.


End file.
